‘What ails you, sir?’ said Nicholas.
‘Betrayal! Perfidy! Wickedness.’
Hoode actually laughed. ‘She turned him down,’ he said.
‘The villains have robbed me!’ yelled Firethorn. ‘They took all the money that we strove to earn tonight.’
‘How?’ asked Nicholas.
‘They got into my chamber while I remained here below. It was only when I checked the contents of my capcase that I discovered the theft.’
‘Hold there, Lawrence,’ said Hoode sceptically. ‘Our takings went into your purse and stayed there until you went upstairs. They could not steal money that was not yet placed in your chamber.’
‘Do you call me a liar!’
Firethorn bludgeoned him into silence with a burst of vituperation then gave an edited version of events. He could never admit that he had been lured away from his room by the wiles of a pretty face, though Nicholas was already certain that that was what had happened. Hearing of the flight of the putative father and daughter, he pressed for detail.
‘Has anyone else been robbed?’
‘That fellow who paid us for our entertainment.’
‘Master Fat-Guts?’ said Hoode.
‘They emptied his pockets as well.’
‘How do you know?’ wondered Nicholas.
‘I met the man on the landing.’
‘Did he tell you that he had been fleeced?’
‘Forget about him, Nick,’ said Firethorn. ‘Our own money is gone. That is our only concern.’
‘I fear not.’
‘Why?’
‘There is deeper villainy here. Call the landlord.’
‘He cannot chase those two rogues.’
‘They may be three in number,’ said Nicholas.
Hauled from his bed, the landlord was alarmed at the news and identified the obese guest as one William Pocock. Nicholas asked to be taken to the man’s bedchamber, and all four of them went tramping up the staircase. The book holder’s fears were realised. When he saw that Pocock’s room was empty, he guessed that the man had gone off to join his two partners. Evidently, all three had worked cleverly together.
Lawrence Firethorn was completely abashed. Cheated by a young woman, he had also been led astray by another ruse, for Pocock’s role in the enterprise had been to detain him long enough in Judith Grace’s bedchamber for his confederates to gain entry to the actor’s own room. Firethorn was too busy nursing his bruised dignity to spy any poetic justice in it all, but Nicholas saw it at once. Having caused havoc in a bedchamber for Edmund Hoode, the culprit had now experienced shame and panic of the same order. It was not a thought over which the book holder lingered. In the vague hope that Pocock might not yet have left the premises, he ordered the others to search the establishment and went racing off downstairs to the taproom. He grabbed one of the lanterns and hastened out into the yard.
The place was deserted. Apart from the whistle of a slight breeze and the occasional movement of horses in the stables, there was no noise. To make a swift departure, Samuel Grace and his daughter — and Nicholas doubted very much if that was their true relationship — must have had their mounts saddled and ready. Pocock would likewise have an animal in waiting that could be ridden instantly away. Nicholas therefore headed for the stables, using the lantern to throw its meagre light a few paces ahead of him. He reached the door of the first stable block, lifted the wooden bar that held it in place, drew it open and went in. Hooves shifted in straw and there was a stray whinny from the far end of the stables. All the horses were tethered to their mangers. Wooden pails of water stood beside them.
Nicholas checked each beast but none was saddled. If Pocock had a horse in readiness, it must be on the other side of the yard. The book holder turned to walk back down the rows of horses when he had a mild shock. The door, which he had left open, had now been shut, and the faint square of light that he would have aimed for had disappeared. If the wind had been responsible, the door would have creaked on its hinges and banged. Some human agency was involved. The animals confirmed it because they became restive and inquisitive. One neigh set off a few more, a bucket was kicked over and the rustling of straw was constant. The lantern was an inadequate guide but it made Nicholas an obvious target, so he quickly doused the flame and put the object aside. He slipped a hand around to the back of his belt to remove his dagger from its scabbard.
Danger was an old enemy and Nicholas was not afraid of it. Anyone who walked home through the fetid streets and lanes of Bankside every evening developed a sixth sense for an impending threat. Who was in the stable and why was his presence so menacing? It was surely not Pocock, whose sole interest must be in immediate flight. Slovenly and overweight, the man was ill-equipped to take on the powerful Nicholas in any kind of fight. And what motive could he possibly have? The book holder carried no money. He was up against a more practised adversary, one who could close a squeaking wooden door without making a murmur, one who could lie patiently in wait for his quarry to come within range. Was he armed with sword, dagger or club? Or could he rely on the strength of his muscles to subdue Nicholas?
Amid the breathing of the animals and the motion of their feet, Nicholas strained his ears to listen for sounds of the man’s whereabouts. The clink of harness made him swing around but it had been made by the toss of a horse’s head against a dangling bridle. A startled neigh made him face in the opposite direction but he could make nothing out in the thick gloom. It was the rat that betrayed him. It came out of the straw with such rustling urgency that Nicholas found himself jabbing his dagger in that direction. Something hard and numbing crashed down on his hand to knock the weapon from his grasp then the man was upon him from behind, tightening a knotted cord around his neck and trying to put his knee into the small of Nicholas’s back to get leverage. The cord had sharp teeth and seemed to be eating right through his throat. It was being held by a man who had used this instrument of death before.
Nicholas responded at once, using both elbows to pump backwards into the man’s ribs then slipping one of his hands under the rope when there was a fleeting relief in tension. He began to twist and turn so violently that the man had to adjust his footing all the time and there was a slight loss of venom in the rope’s bite, but Nicholas could still not dislodge him and his own strength was waning. His cheeks reddened, his eyes bulged, his veins stood out, his mouth went dry and the pounding in his head became more insistent. He felt as if a dozen sword points were simultaneously pushing their way through his neck in order to meet in the middle.
Summoning up all of his energy, he dipped down low then launched himself backwards, knocking the man into the side of a loose box with such force that his grip on the cord was lost. Nicholas tore it from his neck, threw it away and tried to meet his attacker face-to-face, but the flank of a horse came round at him to buffet him away. The man had had enough. Seeing the chance of escape, he scrambled to his feet and got in a glancing punch to Nicholas’s face before he scuttled off down the stables and out through the door. It banged madly this time and Nicholas lurched towards it, but the strangulation had squeezed much of the power from his limbs and he could offer no swift pursuit. The attacker was, in any case, already in the saddle and spurring his horse away from the inn. By the time Nicholas staggered out into the yard to rub at the stinging red weal on his neck and stare around with blurred eyes, his adversary was hundreds of yards away.
When the mist cleared sufficiently from his mind for him to be able to think properly, Nicholas realised why the attempt on his life had been made. Simply because she bore a message to him, the life had been mercilessly crushed out of a harmless girl. Now that he was heading for home, Nicholas had become a potential murder victim. Someone was going to great lengths to stop him from reaching Barnstaple and he was lucky to be able to continue the journey. He would now do so with greater vigilance and increased determination because one thing was certain. The man who gained the advantage over him in the stables was undoubtedly proficient in his trade. He would strike again.